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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147044">Love is Colder in the Winter</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs'>spideysmjs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>New Beginnings [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Powers, Coming of Age, F/M, Family Angst, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Hanukkah, Mentions Of Infidelity, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, New Kid Michelle Jones, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:29:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28147044</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She doesn’t move when she starts to feel the sprinkle of rain grow heavier like a slow embrace on her skin. The roof has become her new sanctuary, a place to escape where she can watch dusk on the horizon and ponder through the latest hours of the night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s midday, and MJ would feel guiltier for skipping class if her life hadn’t been crashing and burning since she came home on Thanksgiving.</em>
</p><p>As her first semester comes to a close – amidst the stress of SAT's, work, and finals – there are three things in MJ's new life that are constant: her favorite hiding place, long drives, and Peter Parker.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>May Parker (Spider-Man) &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds &amp; Michelle Jones &amp; Peter Parker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>New Beginnings [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. part six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughinginthecorner/gifts">laughinginthecorner</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everyone! First off, if you haven't read Parts 1 &amp; 2, I highly suggest you do as this part is a continuation of this slow-burn story.</p><p>It has been a hot minute since I've updated this series, so thank you for being so patient with me. I tried to do my best to finish. It was originally supposed to be longer, but life has been incredibly... rough, to say the least. However, I did want to post it today because it's the last day of Hanukkah! So I broke the story into three chapters instead of two. </p><p>To those who celebrate, Hanukkah Sameach! &lt;3 </p><p>I decided to gift this fic to someone whose comment encouraged me to open up a new doc before the end of the year. Thank you for finding comfort in this fic, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughinginthecorner/pseuds/laughinginthecorner">laughinginthecorner</a>.</p><p>From <a href="https://spiderman-homecomeme.tumblr.com/post/633603846711721985/twelve-days-of-promptmas">promptmas:</a></p><p>
  <em>14. making latkes together</em>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter sets all the ingredients he purchased at the grocery store spread across their flour-stained kitchen table, looking in awe of the sugar that reminds him of Uncle Ben’s sweet laugh. He eyes the store-brand can of raspberry preservatives May insists on purchasing because they’re cheaper and taste exactly the same as the expensive ones.</p><p>He crosses his arms, smiling at the fact that the tradition that had come to a brief halt two years ago, is finally back, laid out in front of him.</p><p>When his phone rings, he immediately knows it’s May. “Hey. Do you need me to pick you up now? I got the groceries, and I prepped the dough.”</p><p>Through a yawn, May answers, “Yes please. I’m almost out. I have a few tables where a bunch of Midtown theater kids sat that needs to be cleaned. Thoroughly.”</p><p>“Yikes,” Peter says, remembering freshman semester and how he’d made an attempt at the theatrical arts, only to get a massive asthma attack on opening night, never returning to the stage after his role as “Library Extra #7” became a complete bust.</p><p>Ben and May took him to the ice cream shop before heading home and watching Ben’s shaky—and very sneaky—tape recording of <em>Wicked</em>, from his and May’s anniversary. They couldn’t afford to visit Broadway, so they went to a local theater. Peter’s favorite part of the entire video tape is when he turns the lens to May, who's flashing a grainy smile, shaking her head and pointing to the stage, where the camera needs to be.</p><p>“See you in ten minutes, Pete.”</p><p>“On my way. Love you.”</p><p>“Love you too, honey.”</p><p>He grabs the keys he’d just dropped on their tiny kitchen counter, sighing as his shoulders tense on his way out the door. As he locks it, Peter stretches his head, releasing tension in his bones, muscle cracking. He’s more exhausted than usual from the looming dread of senior year fall semester finals and Academic Decathlon’s first “real” competition that isn’t a scrimmage with another high school from the district. They'll be excused the entire Friday, which is a bonus because it's the last day before winter break.</p><p>Peter spends his hours after school locked in the library, listening to Gwen’s directions on which subjects to focus on during the competition and Flash’s insistence that he’d make a better first-line member than “flaky” Parker. The sentiment makes him roll his eyes each time knowing he’d quit his job at the ice cream shop and actively avoided Betty’s serious eyes during lunch (he hadn’t been to many events to photograph for the paper) just to give himself nearly 100% to the Decathlon team.</p><p>The warranted glares from Flash’s judgmental perception of Peter’s old, bad attendance habits become more tolerable because he stops reacting to Flash. Now, he just turns his head to MJ whenever she’s at practice, who smiles softly at him, who understands what it’s like to feel the weight of the world pressing on your chest—the weight of your future tugging at your stomach from how much harder you have to work.</p><p>It’s nowhere near the same for him as it is for MJ, Peter understands this, but Flash constantly flashing his final applications to all the Ivy Leagues and state schools still hurt when Peter needs to scrape the last bits of his summer job money to barely be able to afford applications for three universities.</p><p>When Peter hops into the driver seat of his car, he still feels a pierce of anxiety counting down the days when he’ll finally be able to afford fixing the dent that reminds him of his past mistake. They’d put fixing the Camry on hold, knowing that for as much of an eye sore it is to look at the damage, the engine still runs as best as it can for being nearly a decade old. May's own car only wants to run when it wants, and just as she was about to leave for her shift, the battery died again.</p><p>He lets his arm rest on the passenger seat, a feeling of his heart racing, looking at the empty spot in his car and missing the person who’s been sitting there almost every day after those Decathlon meetings with the soothing sound of her voice to calm him down as she sings to her favorite songs.</p><p>Peter smiles, a fond bundle of feelings swelling at the thought of MJ mixed with a longing to see her again and soon.</p><p>They’d planned a study date (Yes, it’s for studying, and nothing else, <em>Ned</em>) at the bookstore on Wednesday, after their last turbo practice for Decathlon. They’d been having practices every day since returning from Thanksgiving, and on the days MJ decides to go—the reasons for her absence unbeknownst to Peter—they’d seen each other after.</p><p>This plan is different: she’d asked him to go with her on Wednesday specifically, locking in their usually spontaneous decision, saying she had needed to tell him something. Something important.</p><p>It’d make Peter more nervous if they hadn’t been talking almost every day since she’d kissed him on the cheek.</p><p>There’s something about the ebb and flow of their relationship, or whatever they seem to be having. A noticeable balance. A silent yet comfortable understanding that they’re there for each other, even if they don’t have to say it in walls of text messages—especially when they continue to hide in the library together during lunch. Every day, Peter offers MJ his celery sticks while he listens intently to her summary of the latest murder mystery she watched. They'll share their portions of veggie snacks and be in each other's presence as if it's the only thing they need.</p><p>The drive to pick May up is fast, Peter’s thought keeping him company on the journey there. Right as he parks, she rises from the brick wall with her coat wrapped snug around her shoulders, her hair curled from being tied messily on the top of her head—a tale of a long shift.</p><p>“How was your Monday, Peter?” May asks, plopping down on the passenger seat.</p><p>He shrugs. “It was fine. Gwen let us out early today and gave us a break tomorrow for studying for the competition. Just studied after school. And groceries like you asked.”</p><p>“You got everything for the sufganiyot?” her face lights up.</p><p>“Yes. Even the off brand fruit.”</p><p>“It’s the same.”</p><p>“I know, May,” he smiles, backing out of the parking lot and heading home. Peter keeps the radio off whenever he picks May up. She says he plays music too loud, and Peter pretends to not know it’s because she’s too exhausted every day from double shifts or late nights to hear more noise. Instead, he listens to the sound of his tires going through the gravel of the beat down road, accompanied by his own thoughts.</p><p>He wonders if MJ had a good shift today at the ice cream shop, the reason that she’d declined his offer to study for the next two days claiming she’d needed to double up on her earnings for the holidays.</p><p>They talked about Hanukkah today during lunch. He mentioned how May’s trying to plan it with him this year, how it was hard to do so in the past years because potatoes reminded her of Ben too much and May's surprisingly huge side of the family only ever meets for Christmas, draining her wallet. May working overtime to make ends meet does not go unnoticed, the guilt rising in Peter's chest every time he lets himself think about it too much. </p><p>And as he continued to blabber on and on about his past, MJ listened to him with as much intent as he does with her all the time.</p><p>It felt nice, warm, accepting.</p><p>Balanced.</p><p>“I almost forgot to take the menorah out of storage, can you believe it?” May chuckles, filling the silence. “These damn shifts have just been exhausting.”</p><p>He frowns. “You know I can talk to Wayne and maybe get my job back at Utterly Ice Cream.”</p><p>“No, Peter. We’ve talked about this. It’s your senior year, and you need to enjoy it with your friends before–”</p><p>“It’s not like I have any more friends anyway.”</p><p>May turns her head, lips pulled into a pursed shape. “Ned?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he smiles. “But he’s a popular guy, you know? Can’t force him to see me every day.”</p><p>“You know he’d never feel forced.” Peter agrees, but shrugs. She continues, “What about MJ? You haven’t told me anything since she kissed you?”</p><p>“It was just on the cheek.”</p><p>“Peter,” she looks at him with telling eyes. “She likes you. You know she does.”</p><p>“I know,” he says as his heart swells in his chest, and every single song she’s ever shown him plays in his head.</p><p>“Do you like her?”</p><p>“I do,” he whispers, eyes glued onto the road as the greenlight allows him to accelerate. “But… I don’t know. I just don’t want to ruin what we have.”</p><p>“Do you know what you have?”</p><p>“I think so,” he says. “I think she's becoming my best friend. And–uh–I know she kissed me like once, but she hasn’t done it again yet, and I know she wants to take things slow because that’s who she is, and I think she’s hesitant of Gwen sometimes, but you know that Gwen’s not a bad person and–”</p><p>“Breathe, kiddo.”</p><p>He does, a deep one that pushes out the air trapped in the shape of confusion swirling through his body. “Thanks.” He turns left, the final stretch of the journey almost done as he eyes carefully the apartment buildings on the right side to make sure he pulls into the correct driveway. “The point is, I don’t want to hurt her.”</p><p>“Loving someone is not hurting someone.”</p><p>Peter bites the inside of his cheek. It’s the truth that comes out of May’s lips, but he can’t believe it—not when every person he’s loved has ended in heartache. His uncle passing, Gwen walking away, and everyone else around him thinking of him as a burden. Harry is at the top of the list, a guilt punching Peter every time he thinks about it, even if Harry hadn’t been the greatest friend in the past years, either.</p><p>It’s a two way street, a lesson that Peter’s kept in his heart since he saw the hurt look on MJ’s face back in the summer, when she’d told him that he upset her from the way he'd taken out his frustrations on her without considering her own feelings. However, even if the memory is etched in his mind, being taken on a journey of important life lessons is hard to balance when everything you need to do at seventeen is to survive high school and (hopefully) get accepted into college.</p><p>“Thanks, May,” he says quietly, subtly pushing away the conversation the way May knows is a signal to stop.</p><p>He finally pulls into the driveway, stopping the engine and hopping out of the door to open May’s. She thanks him, hopping out of the passenger seat and putting her arm carefully on his shoulder as she says, “Let’s celebrate the first night of Hanukkah, alright?”</p><p>Peter’s heart swells. “I’ll start mixing the flour.”</p><p>It’s nearly May’s bed time by the time Peter finishes shredding the potatoes and onions. He uses the back of his arm to wipe off the sweat, mumbling something about taking advantage of a Black Friday deal with a food processor. May brushes it off, refuting his claim by stating that they didn’t need to get something new to replace something that works still.</p><p>An old-fashioned perspective but one that Peter accepts because tradition is important.</p><p>His shoulders relax after a couple hours of work. His stomach grumbles, bothering him as he stands up and inhales the aroma of sweet dough and a hint of cinnamon, May having the lead on the sufganiyot—both of them squeezing past each other in their kitchen in a welcoming silence to get their respective treats fresh and ready.</p><p>The sufganiyot should last all of Hanukkah, though Peter’s certain he’ll finish it before the eight days are finished. He could devour the entire plate tonight with his growing metabolism, another growl from his stomach reminding him that all he had while prepping food were bits and pieces of the leftover pastrami platter May brought home from the Deli.</p><p>As May walks out, he steps toward the kitchen, the light shining on the dutch oven and its delicious donuts, cooking at medium heat. Another inhale of the heartwarming scent, then Peter stretches his arms into a yawn.</p><p>When he makes his way to the living room through a few long strides, he sees May curled up in their single couch, idly changing the channels on the TV, waiting for the dough to finish baking. She shivers. She refuses to increase the electricity bill, so Peter avoids the thermostat and heads straight to the hallway closet, grabbing the second warmest blanket since the heat from frying latkes will cause the room’s temperature to rise.</p><p>“You can take a quick nap, I’ll watch the rest of the sufganiyot,” he offers.</p><p>“You sure?” May asks, expect her eyes are already beginning to droop in the darkness of their living room—the only fluorescent light shining from the kitchen just a few feet away.</p><p>Before Ben died and every year, without fail, May's lack of cooking skills became the butt of all their jokes during Hanukkah. </p><p>Peter nods. “It’ll be just like old times, anyway.”</p><p>He receives a slight nudge accompanied with a grin that he doesn’t feel is directed to just him. </p><p>After tucking her into the couch, he starts and finishes frying the latkes with a plan to nudge her awake to light the menorah together.</p><p>Peter keeps watch of the latkes in the oil, distancing himself from the oil splash zone, having learned too many lessons from when he’d watch Ben burn himself from the splatter. His phone buzzes, and he can’t help but let a wide grin travel across his face.</p><p>MJ sends him a picture of the top of her head, a peak of her eyebrows and upward with the utter hat from work placed in a slight diagonal on her head.</p><p> </p><p><strong>emjay</strong>: I am not amoosed.</p><p> </p><p>He snorts, hovering his phone over the pan to snap a picture.</p><p> </p><p><strong>petey</strong>: sounds a latke like a personal problem</p><p><strong>emjay</strong>: Nice.</p><p><strong>emjay</strong>: Call me later?</p><p><strong>petey</strong>: of course</p><p><strong>emjay</strong>: Happy Hanukkah, Parker.</p><p> </p><p>He hears much louder sizzle pop from the pan, rushing over to pull the last round of latkes out of the oil. The sufganiyot has a little over five minutes left, Peter taking the time to throw all of the dirty utensils in the sink, making a note to himself that he’ll wash the dishes tonight—just like when he was younger, when Ben was around.</p><p>(Though he offers to wash the dishes way more now. He’s grown up like that).</p><p>Ben would have loved MJ.</p><p>It’s something Peter’s been thinking about, wishing that their lives had aligned with one another’s just in time for the two of them to meet. They’d bond about music.</p><p>Peter decides he can show her Ben's old vinyl collection one day, a collection no one outside of him or May have seen.</p><p>Finally, he tosses the last spatula into the sink, grimacing at the mountain of dishes he’ll have to stay up even later for. He wipes his hands furiously against the towel, ridding himself of the oils that did end up splattering on him. Exiting the kitchen again, he notices May stretch her arms out of the blankets, sighing big and loud before looking straight at Peter and hitting him with a soft smile.</p><p>May yawns again. “Sorry I knocked out after tossing the donuts in the dutch oven. I can finish the jelly tomorrow.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” he says. “They’re for all of Hanukkah, anyway. If you finished tonight, they’d be gone tomorrow.”</p><p>She lifts herself from the couch, “I guess we can wait one more day until they all mysteriously disappear.”</p><p>Both of them gather around the kitchen table as May eyes the latkes in the center table, finger tracing against the leftover flour from prep. Peter says, “I got the whole kitchen after we light the menorah. Don’t worry, May.”</p><p>May hums in response, hands on her hips as she heads over to the kitchen to grab two plates. Handing one to Peter, she places one latke on each. Peter, nervous with one hand holding the plate and the other shaking next to his thigh, anticipates May’s reaction to the taste of his first time making latke. She and Ben were married for 28 years – dating for three years before then —and with Peter being alive for only seventeen of those years, he wants to impress her, hoping it tastes almost the same as her husband’s.</p><p>She takes a bite, relaxing her eyes as Peter watches her bask in all the flavors.</p><p>“It tastes wonderful,” she says.</p><p>“Just like Ben’s?”</p><p>Her eyes soften, head tilting toward him. “With a little pinch of your heart.”</p><p>Peter wipes his silent tears with the bottom of his t-shirt. May rests her hands on his shoulders and leads him to the living room again, all the way to the window sill where their menorah sits ready to be lit. They used to light it right after the sun sets, just as Ben got home from work, but as far as the importance of traditions go, some changes do need to be made, especially when life’s routine takes an uproar in the guise of double shifts for May.</p><p>Placed neatly next to the menorah is Ben’s old journal, small and leather bound. May hands it over to Peter, pages already opened to the blessings he needs to recite. The English translation is scribbled neatly in a handwriting that makes his chest feel tight as he promises to brush up on his Hebrew after he graduates when he has more time to catch up.</p><p>Peter thinks about the first night of Hanukkah he remembers:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Ben brought out his film camera, snapping pictures of May as she frowned at being teased for her desperate attempt to cook.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Peter will make better latkes than you when he’s old enough to be next to the oil alone,” Ben chuckled. “Might make some better than me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter pouted. “No one can make them better than you, Uncle Ben.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ben walked over to Peter, who devoted himself to watching the dough rise for the sufganiyot – a very important job, his uncle would emphasize. Ben sat down in the chair next to Peter’s, hand softly pinching Peter’s chin as he said, “You can if you put just a little pinch of your heart in it when you do.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Here’s the shamash,” May says, handing him a lit candle. He takes it from her carefully, eyeing the candle tucked in the right side of the menorah. He tilts the flame, watching the reflection of the window get brighter.</p><p>They stand there silently, Peter feeling as if the entire room is covered in daylight, excited to feel even brighter as the days of the holiday pass on and excited to tell MJ about the way he’ll be spending each night of Hanukkah—the most exciting day being Friday, since May has it off work and they’ll head over to the soup kitchen after lighting the menorah before sundown. He feels a soft brush of May's hands against his arms as they release a sigh in tandem.</p><p>He knows who they’re both thinking about.</p><p>“I’ll fill the donuts tomorrow,” she says.</p><p>“That’s okay, May. I’m actually kind of full,” he says. She tilts her head in suspicion, rolling her eyes fondly as she heads to her room thanking Peter once again for cleaning up.</p><p>Peter allows himself to linger in front of the menorah. He allows himself to think about Ben for more than the usual few minutes he restricts his time to knowing that a guilt will always seep through the cracks. He lets out a quiet, “Miss you.”</p><p>Maybe it’s the gust of the wind coming in through the cracked window he’s facing, but shivers run through his entire body before a blanket of tranquil warmth hugs him. He grins, then heads to the kitchen to do the chores he’s promised. It’s calm somehow—the quiet spill of the sink water hitting pots and pans as he charges through each utensil. He feels a comforting sensation in his tummy, cozy like the love Ben had and still has for him, found in the way Peter’s latkes still tasted like home and the way he stuttered significantly less during the blessings than he used to when Ben was around.</p><p>Peter doesn’t realize there’s tears falling down his face until it reaches his chin, clinging onto his skin like it’s the edge of a cliff until it drops down. Too focused on scrubbing the oil off the pans to wipe the tears away, he allows them to trail down his cheekbones racing toward the finish line.</p><p>The tears he has for Ben will be endless, once filled with pain and hurt now filled with only the good. There was always more good than bad—an answer that Peter found after he realized that grief never goes away, and that grief is just love that is lost and looking to be found again.</p><p>When his phone buzzes, he wipes his soap hands on his jeans, scrambles for his tangled headphones in his back pocket and pops them on.</p><p>He breathes heavily into the phone. MJ asks, “Did I call you while you were running?”</p><p>“I–” Peter chuckles. “No, I just rushed to the phone when I saw your name.”</p><p>“Oh,” she says. “Hm.”</p><p>Peter runs his fingers through his hair, still damp from the sink. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. He needs to take a shower after all of this. “Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” she says. “You’re cheesy. I’m not used to it.”</p><p>“Oh–oh I can stop,” Peter offers, though he doesn’t know exactly how to stop being himself, nor does he understand how the things he says are cheesy.</p><p>“I like it.”</p><p>“That’s great,” he whispers. “How are you? You didn’t–you weren’t at practice today.”</p><p>“Was the team upset?” she asks, Peter hearing the slight panic in her voice. “I told Gwen why I couldn’t go.”</p><p>“No, no. I just missed you.”</p><p>MJ snorts. “You’re gonna miss me more now that I’m just an alternate for the competition.”</p><p>“What? No, that’s impossible. You’re smarter than me.”</p><p>“But not as punctual. Which also seems like it’s impossible, but… here we are,” she sighs.</p><p>“You know the Academic Decathlon binder like the back of your hand and you started way after us.”</p><p>“I know,” she says, “but I get it. Team morale. It’s important to be there. Which I can’t be.”</p><p>A beat. Peter sighs, a pout in his voice as he asks, “Why not, Em?”</p><p>There’s a slight static in the silence between them. Peter can picture her face, lips tucked in and eyes blinking faster as she’s in deep thought. “It’s a long story.”</p><p>“Will you be sharing this on Wednesday?”</p><p>“Yeah! Yeah… All on Wednesday,” she says, a promise in her tone that keeps Peter at bay. “It’s just been hard to keep up with everything and–” Peter hears the tremble as she speaks, but remains silent, allowing her to talk. “And it’s just for the best. I may have bitten more than I could chew as a new senior.”</p><p>Peter, ignoring the mountain of dishes that has yet to go away, travels to their living room to lay down on the couch and curl up in the same blanket he’d tucked May in a couple of hours ago. “I get you. I haven’t photographed events in weeks. Betty’s going to kill me.”</p><p>“I’ll be right after. I haven’t written an article for the winter issue at all.”</p><p>“Is she mad at you?”</p><p>“Probably,” she says. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her or Cindy in a while.”</p><p>There’s something strange about their conversation—the natural, aloof messages between the two not translating into the phone call. His casual feelings toward Wednesday slowly disappear, replaced by nerves. Peter swallows, wondering if MJ would be okay with what he’s about to ask. “Is everything okay?”</p><p>A weak scoff escapes MJ’s mouth. Her voice shakes again. “That’s a loaded question, dork.”</p><p>The nickname puts Peter at ease, his shoulders loosening as he sinks further into the couch cushion. “I’m just worried about you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”</p><p>“You can’t stop thinking about me?” she says.</p><p>“Maybe,” he replies, hands curling into the blanket. “So are you? Okay?”</p><p>MJ sighs. “Not really. I thought it was pretty obvious.”</p><p>“Well kind of. You didn’t finish your baby carrots at lunch.”</p><p>“LIke I said, there’s just a lot going on right now,” she says. “Wade was pretty mad at me last week because I missed an entire shift. I didn’t even realize.”</p><p>“Was there an emergency?”</p><p>“No. I was with Felicia.”</p><p>Peter has never really known Felicia since she transferred to their school two years ago, but if there’s anything he’s certain about, it’s the caution that the rest of the school takes around the dance team, and the caution that the dance team takes around him and his friends, particularly Harry. “You two are close, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, “cause she’s been here for me since, like, the beginning of the school year. And now. A lot right now, actually.”</p><p>Peter wants to be there for MJ the way Felicia is, but how can he put 100% into being there if he’s being swallowed by his own emotions, too? “That’s-that’s good, MJ.”</p><p>“I just really need a distraction from everything. A good distraction.”</p><p>There’s a silence that falls between them and Peter can’t help but feel that MJ’s waiting for him to say something else–to make a declaration that he’s there for her, too. Instead, he stays quiet, making the decision to wait for Wednesday to hear her story knowing that he’d much rather be there to console her in person than over the phone when it’s close to midnight.</p><p>“Did you light your candle?” she asks.</p><p>He smiles. “I did. May found Ben’s old journal, and she made this set up by our window. I was kind of scared to mess up my Hebrew, so I said the blessings in English since he wrote the translation there for me when I was younger.”</p><p>“That’s wonderful, Pete.”</p><p>“I cried a lot today.”</p><p>“It’s okay to cry,” she soothes him, and it unlocks a new watery trail moving down his face, landing on the couch.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“Why don’t you tell me about the history of Hanukkah again? The way Ben told you before,” she suggests.</p><p>His heart feels warm, golden, and full of light just like the first candle glowing in the window. He says, “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>At the library table they claimed to be theirs during lunch, MJ swung her feet up and down, bumping into Peter’s as he did the same motions. She took one, crunchy bite of her baby carrot, shifting the bag for Peter to take a piece.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We haven’t celebrated Hanukkah since…” he said. “We tried for the first year, but the look on May’s face hurt me so much. I guess I just wanted to ignore the grief of having to light candles every day and think of Ben. I felt so guilty. Like we shouldn’t be celebrating without him.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>MJ frowned. “I’m sorry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s okay,” he said as he took a deep breath. “For the longest time, I thought May couldn’t look at me because she blamed me for what happened. But one day, we got into a stupid fight on the way to her sister’s for Christmas. I don’t even remember what it was about. I just remember that she said doing anything during the holidays reminded her of Ben. And looking at me reminded her of Ben, too, even if he wasn’t my father.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She dropped her pack of carrots, grabbing both of his hands in hers. “Peter.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He laughed, a trying thing. “I realized it was kind of stupid for me to avoid the grief of celebrating Hanukkah without Ben.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s not stupid.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hanukkah is a celebration of light and life,” he said. “Most of our holidays are. And grief is right at the center of some of them. It’s a part of our history, you know?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She nodded, smiling soft as she squeezed her hands around his. “Tell me about the history.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you have the time?” he said, joking as he pointed out that lunch was halfway over.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“For you?” she squeezed her hands once more before letting go, but her feet wrapped around his beneath their table. “Always.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Peter wakes up, the smell of a burnt candle swimming into his nose. He thrusts himself up from the couch, phone flying and hitting the floor of the living room with a thud. His snoring turns into a snort, eyes fluttering open as he rubs the morning crust in the corner. There’s a calm, light blue glow seeping through the window. He runs over to the menorah, blowing the halfway melted candle off and making sure there’s enough candles for the next week.</p><p>He’d fallen asleep on the phone with MJ, a common occurrence since homecoming night. After making sure the candles are prepared for the next lighting, he scrambles for his phone—the call still on the line playing the soothing lullaby of MJ’s light snores. It’s half past five in the morning, Peter feeling more alert knowing May’s next shift is at 6:30 and he hasn't finished cleaning up the living room like he promised.</p><p>Peter rushes through the dishes, making sure the oil is thoroughly scrubbed away from the pans. His face feels sweaty and as he uses his sleeve to wipe away the cold sweats from a deep sleep, he realizes he never changed out of his school clothes or even took a shower.</p><p>He sighs, cursing himself for drifting into slumber before finishing his chores knowing that the moment he finally steps out of the bathroom all cleaned up, it’ll be time for school again.</p><p>As he wipes the counters, he stares at the window sill again, his heart so full of the light that shined throughout the evening, excited to feel the reignited warmth all over again when he comes home from school today.</p><p>Maybe this year, the holidays won’t be hard.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. part seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for being so patient - here's the second chapter of winter &lt;3</p><p>FYI - This gets a little heavy in terms of discussing divorce and family problems. </p><p>I couldn't really think of a specific tag, but I did want to give a warning in the author's note. </p><p>P.S. Proofreading is not a thing that I do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She doesn’t move when she starts to feel the sprinkle of rain grow heavier like a slow embrace on her skin. The roof has become her new sanctuary, a place to escape where she can watch dusk on the horizon and ponder through the latest hours of the night.</p><p>It’s midday, and MJ would feel guiltier for skipping class if her life hadn’t been crashing and burning since she came home on Thanksgiving, her phone call with her father putting her in an emotional dilemma as he confessed the way he missed her and Eric, followed by a long-awaited conversation about his custody over MJ until her 18th birthday.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I don’t want to go through the trouble of submitting a court order, Tammy,” he said, voice crackling through the low-service speaker phone. “I just want to see Michelle for the holidays. She needs to see this side of the family, too.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> MJ’s eyes fell, the pit of hopelessness expanding as she rested her head face down on their dinner table, listening to Tammy attempt to change her father’s mind.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She felt the soft press of Eric’s hands on her shoulders, a comforting touch. As Tammy continued (and failed) to debate against the suggestion, Eric leaned down and whispered against her hair, “I’ll go with you to Dad’s, okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> MJ kept her head down, shrugged, and sighed louder.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Her stomach grumbles, a concerned and angry alert. </p><p>MJ blinks rapidly, wiping the rain from her face as it continues to pour before deciding she’d rather not get sick days before their Academic Decathlon competition. Even if MJ’s just a backup for Flash, of all people, not showing up completely would fuse out the wires in Gwen’s brain.</p><p>She thinks about Gwen often, about how she’d been too rash with her feelings toward her, the silly jealousy that comes with being a teenager winning the battle of morality. </p><p>Now, MJ brushes those feelings from her shoulders, taking her entire strength to not snoop in the history between Gwen and Peter any longer and understanding that, from all she’s learned from getting to know Peter, their story is a lot more complicated than she thinks. </p><p>Gwen is nice to her. </p><p>At least she was when MJ had broken down uncontrollably like a flood. </p><p>She was understanding when MJ’s lip shook as she told her she couldn’t go to practice every day anymore. She nodded softly as MJ went on about her AP class finals and Academic Decathlon practices and events for the Daily Bugle and her job at Utterly Ice Cream and her third and <em>bad </em>SAT exam results and her father and–</p><p>“Breathe,” Gwen said. “It’s okay, MJ. It’s going to be okay.”</p><p>The words brought MJ warmth, a reassurance that she didn’t know she needed. Hell, she didn’t know she was asking for it. </p><p>“Thanks,” MJ whispered, wiping the tear that traveled from the corner of her eyes to the bottom of her chin. The conversation was short, Gwen promising her a spot in the spring finals if MJ was able to in a few months, and MJ grinning as she walked away. </p><p>MJ knows the tension between them will continue to exist, and if Felicia were around she’d say, “It’s high school.”</p><p>But when Gwen looked back for a beat as she exited the library after the end of practice, she smiled and waved again, and that’s all MJ needed to see to believe that Gwen’s promise for things to be better was out of pure goodness and not from just being the Academic Decathlon captain.</p><p>MJ crawls back into her room, drying off with the towel that hangs from her desk chair and changing from wet house clothes to dry house clothes, the repetitive feeling turning into a dull ache in her heart knowing that for the past week, she’d gone to school in the sweats and t-shirt she slept in the night before. </p><p>Her phone buzzes.</p><p> </p><p><b> <em>petey: </em> </b> <em> are you here? haven’t seen you at the halls or anything </em></p><p><b> <em>emjay: </em> </b> <em> i felt sick. didn’t go to school. </em></p><p><b> <em>petey: </em> </b> <em> :( feel better, em. i’ll save a celery stick for you at lunch. </em></p><p> </p><p>She tosses her phone on her desk, turning it on silent before she slips back into her unmade bed, ignoring her stomach’s cries, and hoping to find answers to life’s questions if she takes a nap and wakes up again in a few hours. Sleep is the only resolution she has right now, all of her favorite distractions luring her to the same, dreadful thoughts about having to go back to a place she no longer feels is home to her—even if where she’s standing right now doesn’t either.</p><p>When she wakes up, the storm is heavier. MJ stretches out her arms, her delicious yawn turning into a muffled scream into her pillow. </p><p>It’s hard to tell the time from the overcast clouds and the incessant pitter-patter on her window sill. She crawls out of bed, immediately rushing to the desk to check if she has any messages, unsurprised that her inbox is empty. </p><p>School just ended 15 minutes ago, which means—if the practice is on for today—Peter’s probably rushing to the Academic Decathlon practice, Gwen’s already at the edge of the table, Harrington is pacing back and forth behind her, and Flash is trying to come up with a cool team name because Midtown Tigers sounds lame. </p><p>A part of MJ misses the interaction already, but another part of her—the one that’s been a long time coming since moving in during the summer—knows that her absence means nothing to most of them; that it’s just like the old days when she didn’t exist in this town. </p><p>Her stomach curls inward, only now remembering she hadn’t eaten since waking up. She decides to sneak her way downstairs, tiptoeing into her living room even though she knows both Tammy and Eric are at work. She reaches the dark of the kitchen, opening the fridge to be blinded by the fluorescent light.</p><p>She <em> needs </em>to get some sun.</p><p>MJ grabs the sandwich she was supposed to take for lunch, unraveling it and taking a bite, her stomach asking for more sustenance now that she’s feeding herself. She grabs the half bottle of Coke from the fridge, chips from the pantry, and a banana for nutritional value. </p><p>She drops on her mom’s futon, her lingering perfume stained on the cushions. MJ curls herself in the corner, unraveling the neatly folded comforter and tucking herself in, remembering the days she’d sneak into her parents’ bed from nightmares or fights with Liz, and immediately feeling a sense of loss because if Tammy was home, MJ wouldn’t be able to do this. </p><p>They only have local cable, so she flips channels until she finds reruns of <em> That 70’s Show </em> airing, never really understanding what it was about and only ever opting to keep it on for background noise. Today’s no different, MJ feeling another wave of exhaustion drooping down her eyelids after scarfing down her <em> very </em> healthy meal and ignoring the banana at the edge of the coffee table. </p><p>She tries to follow the episode—it’s a holiday-themed one—and suddenly realizes that Christmas is next week, but she feels absolutely no excitement for the holiday she has always loved. More than anything, MJ dreads having to travel hours back home, having to pretend to be happy around her father, and answering questions about how she’s feeling about the divorce. </p><p>How is she supposed to feel? </p><p>MJ wishes she had the answers for everything like she pretends she does. </p><p>In the episode, Eric is fighting with his dad—who’s a giant asshole for no reason, but it’s kind of hilarious. She wishes her life was a sitcom. She wishes problems can be resolved in half an hour, but more often than not, problems not only become more difficult, but the aftermath lingers in her heart. They can never go away. </p><p>Maybe the holidays are meant to be this lonely. There are sure as hell enough Christmas songs about it, anyway. </p><p>But before MJ can mope around, she hears the creak of their front door, and her eyes widen at the sight of Tammy first shaking her umbrella on the porch, then coming in through the door, coat dripping in rain and boots squeaking against the welcome mat. MJ bites her lips, taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst. </p><p>It’s too late to run up to her room and hide, so she confronts her completely, as her true self: a bitter teenager.</p><p>She grabs the banana, unpeeling it as casually as she can.</p><p>“MJ?” Tammy gasps. </p><p>She takes a bite out of the fruit. “Yeah?”</p><p>The umbrella drops to the floor, all of Tammy’s attempts to keep the house dry failing. Her arms are crossed, and MJ can see the glare in her eyes from across their tiny living room. “Why are you in my bed at 2:30pm?”</p><p>“I wanted to watch TV.”</p><p>Tammy peeks at the screen. “You hate that show.”</p><p>“No, I don’t.”</p><p>“You think Eric’s whiney, and you also think Donna deserved better.” </p><p>She shrugs. “Well, Donna’s subtextually written–”</p><p>“<em>MJ. </em> Stop it. Why are you home early?”</p><p>“School ended.”</p><p>“Twenty minutes ago.”</p><p>Another bite of the banana. MJ, with her mouthful, says, “Yep.” </p><p>“You’re in house clothes.”</p><p>“I’ve been wearing house clothes to school for the past week.”</p><p>Tammy walks over to her closer, blocking the view of the TV. “Don’t play smart with me.”</p><p>Anger starts sizzling at the bottom of her stomach, and she can’t find the reason why, but she has an uncontrollable need to be honest, even to the people she cares for. “I guess you wouldn’t notice that, though.”</p><p>“Why did you skip school?” she asks.</p><p>“Since you’re only ever around to be mad at me–”</p><p>“Did you not remember your progress report? You nearly have a C+ in English–”</p><p>“Because I only exist to be some fucking prodigy or something.”</p><p>“Language!” Tammy says, her voice stern. “Are you even listening to me, Michelle?”</p><p>MJ grimaces. Her nose wrinkles. “Do you have to call me that when you’re upset?”</p><p>“It’s your name. Michelle <em> Jones.</em>"</p><p>“I don’t want to be remembered for what that dipshit did to us.”</p><p>“Do not talk about your father like that, MJ.”</p><p>MJ leaves the half-eaten banana on the table. She stands up, letting the comforter fall around her ankles. “How can I not? And why are you so upset that I do? Does everything I do just upset you right away?”</p><p>She doesn’t realize she’s yelling until her mother raises her voice, too. “You’re <em>failing </em> your classes. You got a terrible score on your 3rd SAT. You skipped school today. You missed work last week and Eric told me yesterday that you’re not even first string for Academic Decathlon?”</p><p>“I’m surprised you know all of this,” MJ hums. Tammy scoffs, hand on her chest. Then, MJ leaves the comforter on the floor, shuffling out of it to walk toward the kitchen, facing the backsplash of their sink, away from her mother’s eyes. “Given that you don’t care about me.”</p><p>“I do care, MJ. That’s why I’m pushing you. That’s why I enrolled you at the top school in the district. That’s why we moved away. So you could focus on yourself, and get yourself out of this… this...”</p><p>“What, Ma?!” MJ turns around, hands flailing in the air—too busy speaking over her mother to pay attention to her surroundings, the pressure in her chest getting heavier.</p><p>“I’m stuck here!” Tammy shouts, though her voice is shaking. She steps to her bed and sinks down, hand pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re the only one out of all of us that has a chance to be successful.”</p><p>Another umbrella drops to the floor. Thunder cracks through the sky, almost shaking the thin single pane windows and wooden shutters. Eric, shoulders slumped and lips slightly pressed downward, sighs. “Thanks, Ma.”</p><p>“Eric–”</p><p>“You know I don’t even have to legally be here.”</p><p>Tammy pouts, soft and silent, different from just mere seconds ago. “I didn’t mean–”</p><p>“But you did. And I mean this too,” he walks closer to the living room, drenching the floor as water falls from his windbreaker. “I never had to stay, Ma. But I did. And you know why I did.”</p><p>MJ catches Tammy’s eyes flicker to her, then back to Eric. </p><p>He stayed for her.</p><p>She feels sick, not from the lazily prepared sandwich she scarfed down for her first meal of the day and not from the way she’d sat out in the pouring rain, but from the way she’d held onto her anger toward Eric since they’d first unpacked their boxes. MJ had been bothered by his actions—from his lack of motivation to go to college, from his late-night hookups with strangers as if he isn't 19 years old and able to make his own decisions.</p><p>She’d looked at him completely wrong, blinded by her own insecurities of her future to understand that not every future is the same. </p><p>He stayed for her, and before this moment, she wouldn’t have done the same.</p><p>There, the three of them stand, silence washing over them as the thunder moves further in the distance, rain drops slowing down into tip toes outside their house, a house that doesn’t feel like the home she left, despite that home being broken. </p><p>Is her life meant to be this way forever? Broken, shattered, without an ounce of hope other than the potential of running away to the West Coast and starting over?</p><p>“I think you need to tell her,” Eric says, his words preventing MJ’s lips from trembling any more than it is, tears uncontrollably falling down her face as slow and quiet as the rainfall. </p><p>“Tell me what?” she asks. </p><p>Tammy relents, sighing as she drops her hands, a frustrated plop of skin against her thighs cracking the quiet coat of tension that has been built since she caught MJ ditching classes. She turns around, sinking on the couch. It’s her turn to cry. MJ notices right away, as soon as Tammy presses the palm of her hand beneath her chin to stop herself from shaking. </p><p>It never works, her voice already cracked as she begins to speak. “Michelle… MJ…”</p><p>MJ towers over Tammy, arms crossed and head filled with confusion as she starts to pace back and forth, refusing to catch the gaze she knows her mother is giving her, refusing to look down at her because their relationship is not supposed to be this way. </p><p>She loves her mom, and out of anyone in the whole damn world, her mom knows her the best. Her mom can read her like an old dusted book on the shelf begging to be shown to the world. And despite the relentless pressure, despite the overbearing protecting casted upon her, despite the necessary absence to keep up with rent–despite <em> everything, </em>MJ knows Tammy loves her, too.</p><p>Her fingers trace the wet chain around her neck, tracing the metal letters of her initials softly.</p><p>“Your dad loves you.”</p><p>MJ blinks, cheeks wet with tears. “What?” </p><p>Out of all things Tammy could say, this isn’t what MJ expected. There’s a feeling in her stomach––anger curling within her all over again, reaching the boiling point. A refusal traveling up her throat, an inescapable frustration and denial of love. </p><p>“No, he doesn’t.” MJ says, sinking to the floor, feeling an ache in her throat from the cold she knows she’ll wake up with tomorrow. She sits cross-legged, hunched over with her entire body curled in, her eyes shut and buried in her limbs. </p><p>“Sweetie…”</p><p>“He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love Eric. He wouldn’t do this to us if he did.”</p><p>“It’s complicated,” Eric says. MJ feels a hand hover on her shoulder, the physical energy of her brother’s body so close yet so far, disconnected in the way it had been since they moved to Jericho. But this time is different; this time he’s trying. </p><p>And for the next few seconds, MJ doesn’t understand herself, feeling more lost than ever, more confused as to why she doesn’t just <em> listen. </em>Why doesn’t she just accept what’s being told? Why doesn’t she get that she’ll never be the main character in the novels she buries her noses in? There is no point to fighting, to thrusting herself upon an inner conflict when a solution is bright and obvious: her dad loves her. </p><p>Why doesn’t she want to believe it?</p><p>“I don’t get it.” MJ’s voice is muffled. She feels Tammy’s thumb stroke her rain-soaked hair gently, fingers carding through her curls. Finally, MJ lifts herself up, vision blurry from crying, hazy from being pressed against her body. “What’s complicated? He cheated.”</p><p>A beat.</p><p>And another.</p><p>Tammy sighs. “I’ve… I’ve known about his affair for a while.”</p><p>And somehow, all of her negative emotions come back, shattering her heart more than anything ever has—more than when she saw those pictures on their shared laptop, more than when she packed her childhood room up to leave her best friends, to leave Liz, whose name is starting to sound like an old memory. </p><p>“Because of me,” Eric says, his hand now resting on her shoulders, the three of them more together than they’ve ever been, but MJ’s existence falling apart as time passes. “I was playing League on the laptop, and… the same thing happened.”</p><p>“How long ago?” MJ demands an answer, voice shaking. Her hands are balled up in fists. No answer. “<em>How long</em>?” </p><p>“A little over a year before you found them.” Eric moves from behind MJ to sit next to Tammy’s makeshift bed. “I told Ma right away.”</p><p>“And not me?” she asks, words barely making it out of her mouth, barely forming in her own brain—heart beating too quickly to even process their team-up explanation. </p><p>“We didn’t want to… to hurt you, MJ.” When she looks up, she stares at both of them above her eye level. She switches her position, bringing her knees to her body, chin tucked. “You love your father.”</p><p>“So did Eric.”</p><p>“I know,” he says. He looks down, MJ watching him fiddle with his fingers the same habit she has when she doesn’t know what to say. “So you could imagine how much I wanted to protect you from it.”</p><p>She watches as Tammy places a hand on his back, but looks into MJ’s eyes as she says, “I don’t think your father and I loved each other the way we wanted each other to. When I gave birth to Eric, we wanted to make sure his life would never be hard. David promised me that. I promised him that.” </p><p>Tammy’s hand leaves Eric as she leans closer to MJ, one hand attempting to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. “And when we had you, we both understood that this is the life we needed to have. We convinced each other to love each other. We worked for it. To raise you and Eric. Together.”</p><p>MJ tries to get Eric’s eye contact but fails as he looks out the window, watching the rain turn from a deep storm to a light sprinkle.</p><p>“We love you both. We tried so hard,” she says. “But when you found out—when you ran into our room, and told me and David at the same time… There was no going back to how it had been.</p><p>“You’re too smart for all of us, baby.” MJ chuckles. She doesn’t know when the tears stopped running from her face. “We—me and Eric—agreed that leaving was best for <em> you. </em> For you to enjoy your life without being worried about me.” </p><p>“Or me,” Eric says. He laughs, “I’m already fucked up now.”</p><p>“Eric, language. Stop it.”</p><p>“Fine,” he shrugs. “I’m doing well, actually. It’s just a joke. Leaving home… it was good for me, too. Even if I didn’t have to.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you guys lied to me.”</p><p>This gathers zero response from either of them, and this reaction is enough for MJ to understand that she’s in the right for <em> something. </em>She’s not crazy for feeling uncertain. This entire time. </p><p>“We just didn’t want to give you another thing to worry about on top of your own goals for school.”</p><p>“Well, look how that’s turned out,” she scoffs, yet there’s little to no anger anymore. Just helplessness, and oddly, acceptance. “I’m failing fall semester. I’m not going to get into the school you want me to get into, or have the future you want me to have.” </p><p>“You don’t have to get into an elite college, MJ,” Eric says. Tammy stays silent as MJ catches him throwing a quick side-eye. “I know you applied to schools in California, and others that you could afford from work. But… there are ways to transfer. There's a way to access everything later, like how I am. I can teach you.”</p><p>But she wants to go to California.</p><p>To Berkeley. </p><p>MJ thinks about how much heart she poured into her personal statements, how much of her life—her father, her childhood, her experiences—into her applications. She thinks of how fucked up it is to use all of those traumatizing moments to get an institution to pick her out of the others. </p><p>She thinks of how, even though the system is shit, she still wants to be accepted. </p><p>A sigh leaves her breath, exasperated, hopeless. “I think I’m going to go to my room.”</p><p>“MJ,” her mother tries. MJ shakes her head. Eric puts his hand on his mother's arm gently, stopping her from following MJ as she gets up from the floor. </p><p>“I just–I need to think. Or not think.” She stretches her arms in the air, looking at the window and seeing how the sun is starting to seep through the clouds, wondering if that means something other than the thunderstorm is over. “Just not here.”</p><p>“Let her,” she hears Eric mumble as she makes her way to their stairs. </p><p>She never understood her brother after he graduated high school.</p><p>She never knew what his life was like when she stopped seeing him every day on their campus.</p><p>She never even bothered to ask.</p><p>Maybe she’ll start now. Maybe, now as she realizes that he’s done whatever he can to do what he <em> thinks </em>is right for her, she can return the favor. She can be there for him and show that love.</p><p>But for now, as she drags her feet up the stairs and back into her bedroom cave—the place she’s spent more time in aside from Utterly Ice Cream and the library at Midtown—she lets herself be angry. </p><p>After finding out the truth—the little of it that has scratched the surface because she knows there’s more to this than her mother or Eric’s side—she lets herself have any emotion she can have without restraint. </p><p>MJ owes it to herself to allow herself to feel, guiltlessly, even if her plans for the holidays are slowly falling apart. </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Three hours pass on from when they first arrived after practice, stacks of textbooks and Academic Decathlon study guides scattered along with the coffee table they’ve claimed on the second story of Alfie’s bookshop, hidden away from the rare bookstore-goers during a storm.</p><p>Every other minute, MJ finds herself peeking from the binder, eyes glancing quickly at Peter, only to be met with his own, shamelessly gazing at her. Each time they catch each other’s eyes, they smile; yet, still, they remain silent.</p><p>He looks up, curiosity floating in his eyes, awaiting a response. She lifts her feet off of the dusty rug, settling her legs close to her on the couch after kicking off her muddy combat boots. Surely Alfie doesn’t mind as she makes herself at home; she’s at this bookstore more than her own bedroom.</p><p>Peter hasn’t brought up the question of why she hadn’t gone to school yesterday, and she knows his lack of inquiry is out of respect, but a part of her wishes he would probe her. MJ’s too afraid to start the conversation, even though she’d told him at the beginning of the week that she needed to tell him something. </p><p>Like the winter storms in New York, that something has snowballed into more things within the past 48 hours. MJ’s energy to be the <em> first </em>to bring up the conversation is lacking, and at this point, she longs for Peter being able to read her mind. </p><p>She knows he can. He’s brought up questions that have opened her up like a novel before, and he’s meticulous enough to read between the lines. She also knows he doesn’t want to pry, he respects her privacy. </p><p>His legs shake as he studies.</p><p>When the minute to steal a look comes back up, she holds her stare for longer, watching the way Peter purses his lips with concentration as he flips through the last pages of the binder. MJ can see the wheels in his head turning—something in his killer, concentrated eyes telling her that he’s having as hard of a time focusing as she is. </p><p>She asks, “Pete. Do you want to get dinner soon?”</p><p>“Shit,” his eyes snap up as he whispers, “I didn’t even realize the time.” </p><p>And he’s doing it again, that <em> thing </em>where he looks at her like she’s some kind of miracle, like he’s never seen anyone like MJ in his life, and she holds it her joy from feeling adored because she doesn’t want to let it get to her own head. </p><p>So when MJ catches him grinning at her, she lifts her eyebrows as he asks, “What?”</p><p>He shakes his head, looking down, continuing that chuckle that makes her heart fill with something she can’t quite name. “Nothing. Let’s get food.” </p><p>They pack their backpacks, calling it a successful day of balancing out fall semester finals and Academic Decathlon cramming. Peter’s been subjected to physics and calculus, and Gwen has given MJ the pleasure of being Cindy’s back up in speech, just in case something happens. MJ ignores Peter’s claims that she’d write a better speech than Cindy the same way she ignored Cindy’s subtle—yet very noticeable and very Cindy-like—eye roll. </p><p>“Bye kids,” Alfie waves them off, mumbling something about closing early since they are the only ones who go to the store anyway.</p><p>MJ opens the door for Peter, jokingly bowing as she lets him walk through first. He gives her a slight nudge on the way out, one playful movement that receives another from her. The night sky is dim, the only downfall of winter being the loss of sunshine. </p><p>The sudden drop in temperature from the toasty bookstore causes shivers to run down her spine, immediately shoving her hands into her coat’s pockets. Her throat sore and her nose slightly stuffed from lying out in the rain, she wraps herself tighter in her clothes. MJ feels Peter’s body move closer to her, a warm touch lingering in the freezing temperatures. She presses even closer, closing the gap until her hand slips out of her own pocket, arm looping with his as they linger around the town center. </p><p>“Want ice cream?” he teases. </p><p>“God, no.” </p><p>“I’m joking. We can get sandwiches. There’s a diner by this thrift store that I need to stop by anyway to get May something.”</p><p>“For Hanukkah?”</p><p>“Kind of? May celebrates Christmas, too,” he says. “But regardless, it’s nothing spectacular. We don’t do big things for Hanukkah. We usually do little things. Practical things. Meaningful things.” </p><p>“What did you have in mind?”</p><p>“So every time we go to the thrift store, she always points out this old Carpenters record. It’s only, like ten bucks, but she never wants to get it. Says it’s always gonna be there, anyway.”</p><p>“Peter, that’s so sweet,” she says, her hot breath turning into fog. Her hand finds its way near his, fingers intertwining smoothly as he pulls their hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. They’re clammy and cold, but MJ wants nothing more. </p><p>His shoulders bob up and down. “It’s nothing, really.”</p><p>“May’s going to love it.”</p><p>“You think so?” </p><p>“I know so,” she says. The remainder of their walk is close to radio silence. Peter’s thumb strokes the back of her hand. There are a few shops that they pass by, some closed already, reminding MJ how small and old this town truly is. “We should eat quick right? So you can light the Menorah early.”</p><p>She turns to face him for a beat and sees the crinkle in his eye. “Yeah, May’s off in two hours. I have to pick her up. Her car came back from the shop, and she doesn’t want to use it a lot.”</p><p>Peter’s hand tenses in hers. She soothes him with a soft squeeze. “Well let’s order fast. What kind of sandwiches are there?” </p><p>“You like pepperoni right?”</p><p>“Yeah?” she raises her eyebrow. Their pace starts to pick up as the sight of the diner becomes clearer. </p><p>“I know just what to order for you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>MJ scarfs down a hoagie, realizing halfway through how hungry she’d been, only to remember that for breakfast this morning she had half an orange because Banner doesn’t allow them to eat during homeroom. Peter’s appetite is just the same, his sandwich already 3/4 of the way gone. </p><p>“This is filling for $5,” she says, food still in her mouth as she chews. Peter laughs, and her face fills with heat. She shoots her eyes down at the table, mumbling, “Sorry.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay,” Peter says, now with a full mouth of the hoagie. She giggles. “I love this place. It’s cheap. I don’t even need a side of anything to feel full, and sometimes that’s really hard for me.”</p><p>She squints. </p><p>“What?” he puts a hand to his chest, faking offense. “I’m a growing boy!”</p><p>Naturally, she rolls her eyes, but she can’t fight the smile that creeps up on her face, somehow forgetting all of yesterday’s events until they come back full force, MJ cursing herself for allowing her thoughts to linger for a second too long. Her smile disappears. </p><p>“But don’t tell May that I’m here more than the Deli. She’ll get mad at me for spending money on a sandwich she can sneak out for free. Their meat here is just <em>so </em>good. And there’s no annoying theater kids in this diner–” he stops mid-sentence. MJ looks up from her sandwich, meeting Peter’s eyes. They’re searching for answers, concerned. “What’s up, Em?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>He frowns. “I know you wanted to talk to me about something important today. And I didn’t want to be the first to bring it up because maybe you’re not ready–” he shifts in the booth “–but I am worried about you. You don’t owe me anything if you’ve changed your mind. I just… I want to know if you’re okay.”</p><p>And she breaks.</p><p>Just like that. </p><p>Tears fall down her face, crumbs scattered on the corner of her lips. She wipes her face with her cold sleeve, goosebumps running down her spine. </p><p>MJ can’t help it anymore, she can’t even bring out the words to explain herself, but Peter’s hands rest on top of hers and his thumb starts massaging her skin, and the comfort feels like an escape. His touch feels like a reprieve from everything that she can’t explain. </p><p>“Woah–hey, hey,” Peter says, quiet and reassuring as lifts himself up from the booth, making his way toward MJ’s side. She leans her head against his shoulder, and Peter’s shirt becomes stained with her tears. He grabs her hand again, locking their fingers and squeezing gently. “Breathe with me.”</p><p>She listens, her chest rising and falling at the same patterns as Peter’s. “I’m going to my dad’s this break.”</p><p>“Oh,” he whispers. </p><p>“Cause I’m a minor or whatever and he still has custody since we just kind of left without doing any legal work and stuff. So it’s safer that way. To go back for a couple of weeks.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” He leans his head on top of hers, shifting it slightly to give her a kiss on her temple. “I wish I could go with you.”</p><p>His sentiment makes her chuckle. “I wouldn’t want to make you suffer like that.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t be suffering if I was with you.”</p><p>“Shut up, dork.” A beat. MJ looks down at their hands, at how natural it feels to be sitting in a diner next to one of her only friends in town as if nothing else mattered in that moment—not Academic Decathlon, not her grades or job, not the brokenness of her home—just the two of them. “My mom knew my dad was cheating on her for an entire year before we left.”</p><p>Peter shifts, straightening his back, moving his head away from hers. “What?”</p><p>“And Eric, too.”</p><p>“They didn’t tell you for an entire year?”</p><p>“They said it would be best for my well-being.”</p><p>“And they didn’t think that it would turn around and bite them in the back?” MJ can hear the frustration in Peter’s voice, restrained but worried. All she can do is let him know this is her family—complicated and quiet, but filled with love that no matter what, she can’t let go of. </p><p>“I know it’s fucked up. I know lying is wrong.” MJ says, turning her head into his chest, burying herself in the comfort of Peter. “But I can’t help but feel like it’s still my fault. They did this all for me. Just me. Why?”</p><p>“Em,” he says, pulling away so he can face her. “I can’t say much about your family. I don’t know them. But all I do know is… you’ve got a whole lot of special in you. Everyone can see it from miles away. You’re special for being just you, and you’re worth the love that they’ve put into wanting what’s best for you. Even if it’s hard to see."</p><p>“But–”</p><p>Peter brings one hand to cup her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears. “I’m not telling you to be okay with it. Hell, I wouldn’t be. It’s okay to feel. No one should make you change the way you feel about anything. But it’s not your fault that it had to be this way.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she mumbles, her entire face damp with tears. She stares into his eyes, and he looks at her as if he’s opening his eyes for the very first time. Peter smiles at her, head resting at the booth. The low hum of old diner music fills the silence, accompanying the sniffles that trail after her outburst. She feels a pull closer to him, their bodies shifting closer and closer until Peter’s hand pulls her chin toward him. </p><p>When their lips meet, neither of them takes their time, despite MJ having zero clues what to do with her hands, mouth, or the rest of her body. She follows Peter’s lead as his mouth opens up, tongues dancing with each other in a way that sends shivers down MJ’s spine. She’s never kissed anyone, never had anything to compare this to, but the way his hand moves from her face to her back, pulling her closer makes her wish they weren’t in public anymore. </p><p>That’s when she flinches away, breaking their first kiss. </p><p>Her very first kiss. </p><p>She laughs. “I’m not–I’m not very good at that.”</p><p>“What? That was–that was great,” Peter says. “Wonderful. Beautiful. You’re beautiful, Em.”</p><p>“You’re beautiful, too.”</p><p>“Let’s pack this food up, go to the thrift store, get that vinyl, and you can tell me more about what happened,” Peter suggests. “Or not, if you don’t want to.”</p><p>And, as Peter pulls her up from the booth and takes her completely in his arms while they walk outside of the diner, MJ’s certain that out of all that she’s experienced this entire semester, Peter has been the only constant in her life. </p><p>So, of course, she wants to tell him everything.</p><p>She’s never been more certain of anything.</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>For one entire school day, the gym switches its basketballs and hoops for tables and buzzers. Physical education classes take place in the football field while Academic Decathlon <em>nerds </em>—MJ calls them fondly—fill up the floor for their very competition with students outside of their district. Their two rival schools arrived early, dominating not just their court but spending breakfast in the cafeteria. Tension’s been in the air since MJ stepped foot on campus this morning, her heart sharp and heavy despite not being first string. </p><p>MJ’s curled on the first level of the bleacher reading <em> The Crucible </em>as the first string team runs through drills, waiting for parents and audiences from other schools to start to pile in, Academic Decathlon being an incredibly important spectacle for Midtown. She’s surprised there hadn’t been a pep rally for it; MJ would have enjoyed watching Felicia and Brad dance for Midtown’s elitist honors kids. </p><p>Watching her teammates’ parents walk through the double doors, cameras strapped around their necks and smiles etched across their faces, leaves a bitter taste in MJ’s mouth that she wants to spit out and never remember, ever again. She <em> did </em> mention her competition to Tammy and Eric last week, but she paired it with the words “not that big of a deal” and “not first string anyway”—both of which were reasonable enough for neither of them to take the day off of work to support her. </p><p>She sighs, reading the same line of dialogue over and over again, unable to grasp any details from the book she isn’t even meant to read until the beginning of the spring semester. </p><p>Clearly, fall semester’s finals gave MJ hell. </p><p>As she fake reads her book, Ned sits down beside her, spiffy hat topped on his head. His good luck hat, the same one he’s worn all week for finals, MJ wondering how he’d gotten away with the dress code. </p><p>“Good morning,” he says. “The best thing about competition days is getting the entire day off from classes.” </p><p>“You’re right,” she says, smiling. “The worst part? Having to take finals ahead of time.”</p><p>“Definitely,” he says. “But when competition days start becoming more frequent in the spring, we just get to chill.”</p><p>“You seem so calm,” MJ says. “You aren’t nervous?”</p><p>“Nah,” Ned responds, cracking his knuckles with confidence. “I’ve been in AcaDec since freshman year. Plus, it doesn’t even matter if we lose to me. Midtown’s ranked. That’s all that really matters for college apps.”</p><p>She wishes she could have Ned’s bravery, a trait that shines within him like the sun on the cloudiest days. He knows where he’s headed and he reaches that place calmly, filled with a warmth that inspires everyone around him. For as much as she’s dreaded most of the people in Midtown since the move, people like Ned give MJ a sense of comfort, a sanity check. </p><p>“MJ?” Ned snaps her out of her thoughts, her eye still drilling into <em> The Crucible.  </em></p><p>“What?”</p><p>“How were college apps?” he asks. “I know you wanted to apply to Berkeley. How’d it go?”</p><p>She shrugs. “I may have cranked out the personal statements in like… five hours.”</p><p>“Well, you love writing. I’m sure you got in,” he says. “Berkeley’s nice. My cousins live in the Bay Area. I went there for Christmas when I was seven. We took the Greyhound all the way to San Francisco since Ma doesn’t have a license, and I wasn’t old enough to drive obviously.”</p><p>“Damn,” she says, her head tilting at Ned, eyes softening. </p><p>“It was worth it seeing someplace else other than Jericho.”</p><p>“I bet,” she says. “There’s not much around here.”</p><p>“There’s the city,” he laughs. “But new places are nice, too.”</p><p>“One day I’ll see San Francisco,” she promises herself aloud. </p><p>Ned grins. “I know you will.”</p><p>For the first time, she feels like one of her peers, other than Peter, believes in her. </p><p>Their conversation is interrupted as Gwen approaches them. “Ned, where’s Peter? He’s late.” </p><p>Pulling out his phone and checking for messages, Ned frowns. “May was running late to finish opening. Peter had to wait for her before getting here since the rest of her shift was covered. But that was about fifteen minutes ago. Sorry, I didn’t check my phone.”</p><p>“He could have at least texted the group chat.”</p><p>“There’s a group chat?” MJ asks, and the second the question leaves her mouth, she wishes she had never spoken in the first place. Gwen turns to her, scratching the back of her head, an awkward tension between them. “Not the Acadec group chat. Different one.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Gwen slips.</p><p>“No, no it’s fine.” MJ will just hide her face in her book forever now.</p><p>“Well, I hope he gets here soon before Physics because you and Peter are the top two contenders for that subject with Abe.”</p><p>“He’ll make it,” Ned promises her, and her shoulders relax. “They’re only about twenty minutes far from us.”</p><p>They’re strange—promises. There’s a lot of power in a promise, so much so that if the promise breaks, so can the person receiving it. She hopes for the sake of Academic Decathlon and Gwen, Ned’s promise about Peter isn’t wrong. </p><p>“Good,” Gwen says, pacing back and forth, biting her always freshly painted fingernails. “MJ, how are you in the realm of physics?”</p><p>MJ laughs. “I’m alright. But I’m pretty sure Peter will be here before the physics round.”</p><p>Gwen sighs. “I’d take him coming in here not having showered and on time. He does that already with regular school days.”</p><p>A laugh escapes MJ’s mouth, her stomach curling from how hard she’d chuckled. She didn’t know Gwen would be funny. Then again, she never listened to her as hard as she did now. MJ laughs and says, “That’s disgusting.”</p><p>“You’ll get used to it,” Gwen says as she walks away. </p><p>MJ blinks. Ned shifts next to her. “She didn’t mean–”</p><p>“It’s okay, Ned,” MJ mumbles. “Maybe you should go study the binder or something.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Ned says, dipping down and digging into his backpack, ending the conversation there. </p><p>Peter keeps his promise—or rather, Ned’s promise. </p><p>The competition begins and the stakes are already high with their two rivals nearly sweeping the chemistry round. Banner would be <em> pissed </em> at some of these answers. </p><p>She gets a text.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b> <em>GROUP MESSAGE: Felicia Hardy, Brad Davis</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Felicia: </b>Maybe i should join Acadec so I can save the chem team. </p><p><b>Brad: </b>get over urself leesh</p><p><b>MJ: </b>you’re here?</p><p><b>Brad: </b>look behind u </p><p> </p><p>MJ turns around, looking up at the ascending bleachers. Felicia sticks her tongue out making a face. Brad, in sunglasses, ducks his head down jokingly. She rolls her eyes playfully at them.</p><p> </p><p><b>Felicia: </b>your team better win. we skipped class for this.</p><p><b>MJ: </b>you skip class for everything</p><p><b>Felicia: </b>i’m not getting you a starbucks next time then!</p><p><b>MJ: </b>I take it back</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“Sweetie, is this spot taken?” she hears a familiar voice address her. Her eyes widen. May. </p><p>“No, no. Ned’s stuff is here, but he asked me to watch,” MJ answers, nearly stuttering. </p><p>May smiles. “Do you mind if I sit here? I was with the parents, but they’re just taking this whole thing so seriously.”</p><p>“Of course, Mrs. Parker.”</p><p>“May,” she corrects MJ.</p><p>MJ curls the corner of her lip. “May.”</p><p>May points her finger in her direction. “MJ. <em>The</em> MJ.”</p><p>“Oh, no. Just MJ.”</p><p>“Not to Peter,” she whispers. “So why aren’t you up there? Peter told me you’re really smart.”</p><p>“I had to step down,” MJ says. “Missed too many practices so Flash and I switched.”</p><p>“Ah,” she says. “The darn attendance rules. Almost knocked Peter out this time around, too. You know how he is.”</p><p>“I’ve been hearing that a lot,” she says. </p><p>“He just has so much going on in that head of his,” May sighs, shaking her head with care for her nephew. “I hope that he’ll be okay after graduation.”</p><p>“Peter? He will be,” MJ says, scanning the look on May’s face. Her hands are wrapped around Peter’s film camera, shoulders slumped, a tired posture.</p><p>“I just don’t want him to hold back for the sake of me,” she says. Then, she shakes her head. “Enough of me oversharing, sorry–”</p><p>MJ rests a hand on top of May’s. “It’s okay. I do that, too.”</p><p>The speakers start to blare throughout the gymnasium, the announcement of the next round blaring through the hallowed walls of the basketball court. Silence falls between them for the remainder of the first half of the competition, a few comments from May about Peter, about the weather, about the holidays.</p><p>When May asks MJ what she’s doing for the break, MJ doesn’t hesitate to answer. She also doesn’t hold back from explaining why she’s reluctant to go to her father’s house. The Parkers have some kind of magic in them, MJ’s sure of it, because why else would she be spilling her entire life story to May during the <em> Academic Decathlon </em>of all moments?</p><p>Eventually, May comforts her. She tells her that MJ doesn’t have to be strong, that it’s okay to immerse herself in feelings, May’s response becoming concrete proof that she truly is the woman who raised Peter. </p><p>MJ doesn’t cry this time because they’re in public, in front of all her peers. </p><p>She finds that an accomplishment.</p><p>During halftime, Harrington calls the team to a huddle, which basically is just calling MJ from her lone bleacher area. </p><p>They circle up, and Gwen puts her hands on her hips, a power pose that grabs everyone’s attention with a snap. “Flash, you’re choking on almost all of your answers. Just because you’re the fastest to hit the buzzer, does not mean you know it all.”</p><p>He frowns. “I studied from <em> your </em> binder, Stacy.”</p><p>“So did we!” Ned and Peter both say. Peter’s hair gel has worn out, the stress of running his hands through his hair evident.</p><p>“We’re behind fifteen points,” Cindy says. “Flash you cannot mess history up.”</p><p>Harrington paces around them, hands-off, and allows them to brainstorm the solution. </p><p>Ned calms the group down. “Why don’t we just try Peter’s idea?”</p><p>“What?” Flash argues. “MJ can’t replace me, I’ve been to more practices!”</p><p>“That is the rule,” Gwen says, tapping her foot, deadpanning. Her energy is different from just moments ago before the competition began. MJ’s stomach curls up uncomfortably. “But Flash, history is your weakest subject.”</p><p>“It’s MJ’s second best,” Ned says, winking at MJ. </p><p>Gwen exhales. “What’s the stats looking like, Cind?” </p><p>“Even if I score near perfect on the speech if Flash doesn’t get his shit together–” she pauses for a beat “–or if we don’t get MJ to replace him… we could lose.”</p><p>The crowd groans. Abe says, “Come on, Gwen. Let’s just bend the rules. We’re so close.”</p><p>MJ watches Gwen tap her flats repeatedly against the floor. “Fine. MJ, you’re up. Flash, you’re benched.”</p><p>“What?!” Flash says. “After all I’ve done–”</p><p>“It’s just one game, dude.” All eyes turn toward Peter. “Take one for the team.”</p><p>“Fine,” he huffs, head down, replacing MJ’s seat next to May. </p><p>Gwen turns to MJ and says, “Hope you’ve been studying.”</p><p>MJ, speechless, shocked that she has to play in the first place, just nods. </p><p>Her heart is close to jumping out of her chest, the entire room going silent, her phone buzzing with several messages of which she can assume are from Felicia and Brad egging her on. She ignores them. She slips into the mustard yellow jacket and tucks herself in the chair next to Cindy. </p><p>“Hey,” she says to her.</p><p>Cindy looks down. “Hi.”</p><p>“Good luck,” MJ says, her thumbs fiddling with one another as her hands shake on top of the table, near the buzzer.</p><p>“Yeah,” she mumbles. “You, too. You’re smart, MJ. You can do it.”</p><p>And she does. </p><p>Scoring the last answer in the sudden death round for history. </p><p>Cindy brings her into a hug as they get off from their seats when the round ends. “I knew it! I knew you could do it!”</p><p>“Thank you,” MJ says. “You did great too. You’re gonna kill the speech.”</p><p>A beat. Cindy looks into MJ’s eyes. “Listen, about the past few weeks…”</p><p>“It’s okay,” MJ says, both of them walking away from the table as the coordinators clear the floor for the final round: speeches. “I’ve been real MIA.”</p><p>“We thought you didn’t want to be our friend anymore.”</p><p>“No,” MJ whispers. “There’s just… my life has been real hard at home.”</p><p>“Oh,” Cindy says. She grabs MJ’s hand. “Well, you have me and Betty, okay?”</p><p>“Thanks,” she says before parting ways, MJ making her way back to May, who’s now accompanied by Peter. </p><p>They shower her with compliments. May pulls MJ into a hug after asking if it’s okay. Peter takes his hand in hers for the first time in front of everyone. MJ doesn’t want to look at anyone else’s reaction.</p><p>“Did you ask her, May?”</p><p>“I didn’t!” May says. “I wanted to make sure you were completely okay with it first.”</p><p>“I am,” Peter says. </p><p>“Okay with what?” MJ asks. </p><p>There’s a quiet look that May and Peter share, both of them nervous and grinning. Then, May breaks the ice. “Did you want to come volunteer with us today? It’s one of our gifts for Hanukkah.”</p><p>Peter adds, “We’ll have to stop by the apartment first to light the Menorah, you know, before Shabbat. But then after, we go to the soup kitchen.”</p><p>MJ doesn’t believe their question, blinking rapidly, shocked at how welcomed she feels, shocked that the two of them are willing to let her into something so intimate. </p><p>With zero words coming out of her mouth and all her willpower to not shed a tear in public, she nods and smiles. Peter brings their hands to his mouth and kisses hers. He answers, “Great.”</p><p>Cindy kills it in her speech, and with MJ’s steal in the History round, Midtown wins by four points. They all celebrate with one another, hugging each other, and it’s the first time MJ’s ever felt like she’s been a part of something in school. </p><p>Betty rounds the team up to take a picture for the newspaper, parents are congratulating their kids and Harrington parades around the gym like a maniac. </p><p>MJ can only imagine how spring’s finals will be like if they win. </p><p>She decides she wants to be more involved, proving her way to the first string. </p><p>May hugs MJ again and again before the two of them and Peter head off to their apartment.</p><p>In the car ride, May offers to take the backseat and after MJ’s hesitance, Peter adds, “She hates being in the car with me anyway.”</p><p>“It’s true,” May lifts her eyebrow and teases him. </p><p>“So do I,” MJ quips back. Peter stares at her, pouting. “Kidding, dork.”</p><p>As they pull into the street, Peter asks, “Need to stop by the Deli?” </p><p>“No, honey, Eric’s got it,” May answers. </p><p>“You work at the Deli?” MJ turns around from the front seat. May nods, smiling. “Eric’s my brother.”</p><p>“What?!” May claps her hands. “I don’t know why it never clicked for me!” </p><p>MJ laughs. “I hope he’s not a nuisance at work like he is when he’s being my older brother.”</p><p>May chuckles. “Eric’s a sweet kid. He offered to do a double shift for me because of Academic Decathlon and Hanukkah.”</p><p>“I’m glad,” MJ says, further convinced that her perspective on Eric has become more and more limited as time passes in Jericho, her feelings for winter break blending into an indecipherable pile of emotions. Maybe it is a good chance to be with their father again, with Eric. Maybe their father’s the connection they need for right now, even if MJ can’t bear to picture how obnoxious her Aunt Kathy and the rest of her rich, white family will be. </p><p>Once they pull into the parking lot, they rush into the apartment. </p><p>The place is cozy, just as MJ imagined their place to feel like. Similar to Ned’s in a way that’s warm and lived in. Similar to hers, but only in its size. </p><p>She stands back, hovering behind May and Peter as they light the candle. She listens to Peter say a prayer. She watches May put her hand on Peter’s shoulder as his hands shake with an old journal resting in them. </p><p>MJ closes her eyes and listens to Peter, feeling the energy rushing through her just as bright as the candles that are lit. There’s a light inside Peter and May, and she feels it within herself, too. It’s the same feeling that rushes through her when she’s at church with her mother and Eric, holding hands during <em> Our Father.</em></p><p>This moment makes her forget the dread that’s been looming in the pit of her stomach about the holidays.</p><p>This moment is special.</p><p>This moment is hers to keep. </p><p>MJ wants to frame it in her heart forever.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahh, there it is. Thank you so much for reading. This one was hard for me to write, which explains why the update took so long. It's very personal to me. </p><p>Again, comments and kudos are appreciated.</p><p>Btw, check out <a href="https://ixoren.tumblr.com/post/642525005892190208/when-youre-just-trying-to-survive-your-minimum">this awesome artwork</a> that @laughinginthecorner made!!! It's amazing!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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